


Selection Bias

by a_mere_trifle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-15
Updated: 2010-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:44:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mere_trifle/pseuds/a_mere_trifle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Rule 63/genderbend AU) Oddly enough, throughout this entire debacle, Laurence had never been more uncomfortable than he was right now, alone in his room with <i>Jane</i> Strider sitting on his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selection Bias

Oddly enough, throughout this entire debacle, Laurence had never been more uncomfortable than he was right now, alone in his room with _Jane_ Strider sitting on his bed. That could easily have been attributed to her expression; she was wearing that minimalist, sharp, feral little grin of hers, fearless and bold, which usually augured trouble on its own, but-- what made it the more dangerous was his uncomfortable awareness of just how much he'd _missed_ it, the last few days.

Dave Strider had been more tolerable in some aspects, more utterly maddening in others, and disturbingly carbon-copied in most, but the thing he'd missed most was that smile.

"You can apologize any time now," said Jane, and Laurence rolled his eyes; he'd known this was coming for days. Predicted it half a dozen times to anyone who would listen and several people he'd known would not, in point of fact, but he wasn't sure whether that made it more or less exasperating.

"Since when do you suscribe to superstition, Strider?" he said; probably his expected first move, from the way she was watching. Hellfire and damnnation, he'd failed to notice her legs were crossed. Nothing good ever happened when she crossed her legs like that; her "coquetttish" brand of irony could and had wrecked worlds.

"It's not superstition, it's _genre-savviness_," she countered. "It's learning the rules of the universe, man. How can you not have picked up on this?"

Laurence saw the trap, but walked into it anyway, just for love of the game. "And you expect me to believe that the world follows the shallow tropes and intellectually cheap conventions of one of Mary's putative movies."

"Dude, I thought you were Mr. Scientific Rigor," said Jane, grinning. "Show me a _single scrap of evidence_ that proves otherwise. C'mon. I'll wait. Got all the time in the world, after all."

"No. More. Time. Puns." Even Dave Strider had been prone to the things. He supposed they'd technically earned the privilege, several times over, but he'd be damned if he'd ever admit it. Literally; were her ego to wax any more prodigious, Laurence's life would surely become a living hell.

Jane just cocked her head; after all these years, she was getting to know him far too well. "That a concession?"

"...I will admit there is disconcertingly little evidence to contradict your hypothesis," he said. And, as she crowed, "But! That does not mean that there is no alternative explanation that fits the facts even more accurately. You can be assured I shall not rest until I find it."

"Just _have_ to prove me wrong." She shook her head. "You're just feeling guilty 'cause you jinxed us."

"For the last time--"

"'Surely there are no further spatiotemporal shenanigans we could possibly find ourselves entangled in'?!"

Laurence flushed. "That was, on reflection, really an appallingly stupid thing to say," he admitted, and sat down beside her, elbows on his knees. He should have learned by now: things could always go downhill. And those few days, working out how the switch could have happened and how they could change it back, the thought nagging quiet but persistent at the back of his mind, _what if we can't?_\--

"...You know, it's weird," said Jane. "Even her room looked a lot like yours. Lighter shades of purple, and more yarn and crap, maybe a couple posters-- but that Freud with the octopus head?" She pointed. "In the exact same goddamn place."

"It still seems terribly illogical," he said. "You'd think such drastic changes would have caused more drastic effects."

"Dude, we are not having another goddamn gender conversation, not today. And besides-- we didn't exactly just happen in the first place, did we?"

He frowned. They'd never exactly gotten confirmation on that, but-- no, they had quite a bit of reason to believe there had been something less than random about their births. He had more reasons than the others, in point of fact-- but there was a reason he had kept that to himself.

"Anyway, you can't overthink it," she said. "In the universe where you went all football-hero or something, we probably got our asses killed by meteors a long time ago."

"Selection bias..." He glanced over at her, remembering her in some other place-- her face lit by a red glow that was more heat than light, broken sword held high, hair lashing her soot-stained face as she dove down like an avenging Fury upon a-- he could never recall. He wasn't even entirely sure it had ever happened; the image had such a dreamlike quality to it. "I suppose it would make sense that we would have to share a number of qualities in order to survive that incident."

"Incident." She rolled her eyes; though most of their conversations weren't face-to-face, he was willing to bet she always did when he called it that. "But, that means, I got the motherlode of dirt on you, my friend."

"Please." He met her eyeroll for eyeroll at the transparent strategem. "A Lalonde would have told you nothing."

"Don't underestimate the sisterhood, you chauvinist pig," she said. "'Sides-- how do you know I didn't seduce her?"

He blinked. "I suppose I don't," he said, before he could stop himself. Probably he was distracted by the image in his mind, all too clear, though he'd hardly spoken with his counterpart for more than a minute-- Jane with the element of surprise on her side, kneeling, straddling Rose's hips, leaning in with her most wicked smile as Rose stared up at her, immobilized by the hand at her shoulder, affronted and perplexed and mostly--

"I fucking _knew_ it!" Jane crowed, and tackled him flat to the bed.

"What the-- that doesn't mean--!" he protested, rather weakly.

"Don't try and weasel out of it-- if you think I could seduce her, it's gotta be because you _liiiike_ me." She grinned, and he knew he probably shouldn't be reassured that it was one of delight. "Not that I didn't know that before, but--"

"I wonder--" he said, a wicked flash of brilliance illuminating his benighted fate. "How else might I have come to know you're fully capable of seducing me...?"

"It's pretty obvious I'm just that--" She stopped, stock-still, mouth actually hanging open, and Laurence simply cracked up; they were well enough matched that such perfect victories were rare treats.

"You asshole, you did _not_," said Jane, recovering with her usual speed.

"That's for me to know and you to--"

"--find disturbingly erotic?" she challenged.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Have we not yet exhausted this vein of obscurely existential homoeroticism? Can we not leave this topic, however briefly, for greener conversational pastures?"

"Sure," said Jane. "Except for the part with the conversation."

She leaned down, with her lips tasting of orange cream and smoke, and if Laurence had lost this war, well-- they'd all learned a long time ago that there were far worse things than defeat.


End file.
